Within the Bounds of This Bright Place
by Laudine
Summary: Killian Jones had thought that the tale of the White Cat was only a story. But when he seeks refuge in an abandoned palace, he'll discover that the story is true...and that there is someone else who has a bone to pick with Mr. Gold. Killian/OC. Takes place after "Tallahassee." Based on the French fairy tale "The White Cat."
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I don't own "Once Upon a Time" and the tale of "The White Cat" was originally collected by Madame d'Aulnoy. Takes place after the episode "Tallahassee."**

"_King's son," replied White Cat, "I beg you to leave off making me compliments; I am very simple in speech and manner, but I have a kind heart."_

-from the tale "The White Cat" by Madame d'Aulnoy

**Chapter One**

As a child, she remembered running up spiral staircases to the topmost tower with her spyglass in hand. She would go to one of the mullioned windows that faced each of the four directions and throw them open, and lift her spyglass to her eye and look out at the wide world beyond the confines of the kingdom. She would imagine herself queen of it all, commanding her subjects from high upon her throne, and so imperious was she that they did not hesitate to follow her wishes. Her aunts and her mother had laughed at her and told her to be careful what she wished for, for every so often, wishes came true.

But no one remembered. It was a faraway memory, a dream now. There were times when she asked herself if it had even all been true, but she knew in her heart that it had to be true.

_It had to be true._

For here was the miniature she wore in a locket about her neck, here the turquoise and diamond ring, here the remnants of her old life: her books, her dolls, her pretty clothes that the mother and the aunts had made for her when she had been blissfully unaware of the truth, here the burned bits and ends of twine with which she had tried to make a ladder. And then there were the twelve pairs of disembodied hands which took care of the cooking and the cleaning and the general upkeep of the castle, all the while a sort of silent companionship.

_Did no one remember? _Had they not thought to come looking for her, to see what had happened to the little maiden who had lived here for so long, who had been stolen away so long ago?

But they didn't remember.

There was no one left to remember, no one left who would come looking for her to see what had really happened.

The little white cat meowed plaintively, and then buried her face into her front paws and began to weep.

And then she heard the tinkling of the bell.

She lifted her face from her paws. She took two steps toward the hallway, then remained perfectly still, listening to see if it rang another time.

It did.

She hurried through the hallway and then down the marble staircase. Could it be, after all this time?

_Could it be?_

* * *

It hadn't been easy prying open the manacle, but Killian Jones had gotten himself out of tighter squeezes than this before. The giant, true to his word, had let him live and allowed him to leave with the promise that he never return to the land above the clouds again. Reluctantly Killian had agreed to this, though he couldn't keep his eyes lingering on the many treasures that had simply piled up in these chambers. But the giant had kept his promise to Emma, and so Killian kept his promise to the giant. For the time being, at least.

His biggest concern, though, was evading Cora. He didn't want to face her after his shrewd change of allegiances from Cora to Emma and Snow White, and then Emma's quick, surprising double cross. He should have known that she would have found some way to get rid of him, though. He had trusted all of them too readily and had expected their trust in return. But then, since he hadn't necessarily earned it, he couldn't have expected the same from them, now, could he?

He continued down the trail, following the path down several hills for some miles until it grew dark. He would have to find a place to make camp for the night and hunt down something for dinner, though he wasn't sure if he would accomplish the latter. As he ruminated over this, his brow furrowing, he saw a bright light in the forest ahead. He wasn't sure what to make of this, but it could, perhaps, lead to some food and shelter for the night, so he decided to chance it and follow the lights.

He found it difficult picking his way through the woods, and hacked at several vines and branches that blocked his path. The light grew brighter as he approached it, and then he stopped when he saw the source of the lights.

Towering in front of him was a magnificent palace, and the gates themselves were quite splendid, forged out of gold and covered with carbuncles. The gentleman in him was amazed and astounded; never had he seen such an ostentatious display of wealth. The pirate in him calculated the estimated worth of the gates, and he knew that the palace might hold greater treasures than these gates. He pushed the gates open and made his way up the gravel path, which was overgrown with wildflowers and weeds. He could see the neglected marble statues that lined the path, renderings of nymphs and fauns and every sort of strange creature that inhabited this world. Whoever had lived here had truly made this not only a place to live, but a respite from the toils of the world around him. The gardens must have once been a sight to behold, and the now dry fountains must have only added to the beauty of the place. A strange sort of sadness tugged at his heart. Why should he feel this way?

He noted that the castle was built of a splendid white stone, but that the door itself was gold. _Gold._ And alongside the door was a little stag's foot hanging on a gold chain that was attached to the stone wall. He pulled on the chain, and the bell sounded.

The door opened, and he cautiously stepped in, only to see two pairs of disembodied hands holding torches. They led him through several corridors until they came to a chamber and opened the door. He stepped in to see that it was a salon with furniture made of gilt wood and mother-of-pearl. In front of the fireplace stood two overstuffed armchairs covered in ivory-colored upholstery decorated with patterns of flowers. Another pair of hands gestured that he should sit in front of the roaring fire and warm himself, which he did quite obligingly.

And then he heard another door open and close, and the rustling of a dress. "Good evening," he heard a woman's sweet voice greet him. "I trust my servants have taken care of you?"

He leaned closer to the fire so that he could warm his chilled bones, and without looking, he replied, "Of course they have, love."

He heard the woman approaching closer, and she went on, "They shall have supper ready in a moment." He thought he heard her sit down in the armchair close to his, and he turned to address her.

But what he saw was not a woman, but a dainty white cat. She was a very pretty cat, as cats went. She had dark blue eyes and what appeared to be the softest and finest of fur. But oddly, she wore a blue dress and a blue ribbon around her neck from which hung a locket and a ring. The cat inclined its head, regarding him curiously.

"Have you been journeying long?" she asked him, blinking twice. "It looks as though you have…"

He finally overcame his astonishment, and then he said rather incongruously, "But…you're a cat…I thought you were…"

"The lady of the house?" she finished for him, with a tilt of her head. "Yes, I'm the lady of the house."

He straightened, his dark eyes not leaving hers. He drummed the fingers of his good hand on the armrest of the chair a few times, trying to collect his wits.

There was a story. There were always stories of curses and spells cast in anger or revenge, but the worst of all of them was being forgotten. The magic would do its work, and there would be talk of its effects upon the victim, and soon the excitement would die down and people would return to their daily lives with little to no thought of the cursed. It would come up sometimes, such as when a child would beg its mother or father for another story before putting the light out at bedtime. And so would the stories eventually become dreams and legends, and each time someone told the story something would be added, so that no one knew what the story was about anymore.

But Killian knew. Killian had heard the story repeated over and over again each time he went to port, and each time it was told, there had been something added or taken away. But this story, he knew by heart.

"I know what this place is," he said to her.

Her eyes widened and he could have sworn he saw a trembling about her mouth, and she crouched and strained so that she could watch his body language and his expressions, hear the tones of his voice.

"And I know who you are."

"Who am I, then?"

He inhaled deeply, and then he stared down at the hook which took the place of his left hand so that he wouldn't have to look at her when he responded to her question.

"You're the White Cat."

* * *

The story was this.

Once upon a time, in one of the smaller kingdoms which lie close to the mountains of the north, there lived a king and his queen. The queen adored travel; she was known to have visited nearly every kingdom in the land, and this only endeared her more to the monarchs of the other kingdoms, whose people looked forward to her visits.

While she was expecting her first child, she still insisted upon traveling. One day she and her retinue happened upon a beautiful palace that boasted a garden full of every fruit tree and bush imaginable. All of the fruit was ripe and so brilliantly colored that they looked like gemstones. The queen became obsessed with wanting to taste the fruit. She grew languid and melancholy, and she would speak of nothing but the exquisite garden with its tantalizing fruits. The queen's ladies-in-waiting became quite concerned for their mistress, and so they sent the page to talk to the ladies of the palace.

Now the ladies of the palace weren't normal ladies. They were three fairies of the more malevolent sort, and they all desired to hear laughter and happiness in their silent house. Once the queen's page approached them, they agreed to let her have all of the fruit they wanted, for a price: They desired the queen's unborn child in trade. It was said that they had gone to the Dark One to have their wish granted, and that he brought the whole thing about, much to the fairies' delight.

The queen, not believing that they were serious, agreed to this, and the fairies let her into the garden and allowed her to take as much fruit as she could back home in baskets made of pure gold. The king was surprised at this, and when he asked the queen where she had obtained the fruit, she gave one answer, and then a different one, until she lost all resolve and told her husband the truth. The king was both incensed and saddened, for it seemed that his wife had offered something precious in exchange for things that meant so little. He sought to forget the bargain, and he exhausted all of his resources in doing so.

Soon the child-a daughter-was born, and the three fairies came to collect on their bargain and take the child. The king and queen did what they could to stretch out what little time they had. Yet there was nothing to be done, and when the fairies sent a dragon upon the land, they knew they had to surrender their daughter. And this was too much for them, for there were no more children after that, and the king and queen died of grief, leaving the kingdom to fall into chaos and eventually be abandoned.

The eldest fairy was the one the little girl was to call mother, and the other two were her aunts. She was raised in a lovely crystal palace deep in an untouched wood, and the fairies raised her as a princess should be raised, and the little girl wanted for nothing.

But soon the little girl became a young woman, and she grew curious about the world around her. She would climb to the topmost tower of her crystal palace with her enchanted spyglass in tow, and she would be able to see the rest of the wide world, north, south, east, and west, and she began to want nothing more than to explore it on her own instead of looking down at it from afar.

One day a knight errant happened to pass the palace, and he saw the maiden and fell instantly in love with her. He returned home and began to write her letters and sent them secretly to her tied to his homing pigeons. She returned the correspondence and enclosed her turquoise ring as a token, instructing him to meet her in the garden a few nights hence. On the appointed night, the maiden let the knight into the garden, and soon they pledged their love to one another. He gave her his miniature and a turquoise ring set with diamonds as tokens of his love, and they made plans to run away together and marry.

The eldest fairy noticed the change within her daughter, and thought it high time that the girl should marry. So she arranged a match for the girl with a very wealthy but very repulsive, very cruel fairy king. The maiden would have no part of it, and rebuffed all of the king's advances and refused his gifts. Yet secretly she and the knight had been planning her escape, and she had been weaving a rope of twine so that she could climb out of her bedroom window and so elope with her love. But the girl grew careless, and so did the knight; the eldest fairy saw him leaving the garden one evening. Little did the girl and the knight know that his next visit would be their last time together.

The maiden sneaked down to the garden on the next appointed visit to let the knight in, and her mother and aunts lie in wait. They set their dragon on the knight, and the beast killed him on the spot. But that wasn't the end of their anger. They turned their inconstant ward into a small white cat, and left her in her parents' deserted castle to be alone forever. But there are always ways to break fairy spells, and there was a way to break this one as well. Should a knight errant wander into those woods and into the castle of the White Cat, and should they grow to love one another, then the spell would be broken. But no one wandered into those woods, and so the chances of the curse being lifted were very small indeed.

* * *

"So you know the story, and the reason for my sadness," the White Cat said softly. "Has it become the stuff of legend?"

Killian nodded. "It has. But alas, there is hardly anyone here who would remember. Just me and the few who are left."

"The few?" she echoed, but they were interrupted by another pair of bodiless hands gesturing toward the dining room. The White Cat stood up, stretched, and then jumped down to the floor. "Come," she said, turning around to look at him, "supper is ready."

The dining room proved to be as sumptuous as the salon. The table and chairs were made of dark, polished mahogany, and the room was hung with tapestries depicting all of the tales of legend, such as _Puss in Boots_, _Finette Cendron_, and _Bisclavret._ The table itself boasted an elegant spread, and Killian heard his stomach growl as each dish was presented to the White Cat for her inspection. When a dish was uncovered, revealing stewed rats in orange sauce, the White Cat laughed at the face he made.

"Don't worry!" she exclaimed. "Your dishes were made in an entirely different kitchen. There are no rats and mice on your menu." She inclined her head toward another pair of hands holding a silver pitcher. "But there is rum."

And what very fine rum it was indeed. The lady of the house also provided him with some deep, spicy red wine and then a fine tokay with his dessert of apple tarts, while she indulged in some catnip.

After supper they returned to the salon, where the bodiless hands provided him with some very fine cigars. He took two and put them in the holder he'd had specially made for himself, and he leaned back in the chair and closed his eyes as he enjoyed them.

"Have you a name, sir?" he heard the White Cat venture, and he heard her jump off of the chair. He opened his eyes as she came to him and sat very prettily close to his feet. She put a little paw on one of his boots and looked up at him in earnest.

He grinned, taking the cigar holder out of his mouth, blowing out smoke and then giving his reply. "The name is Killian Jones, or, more recently, Captain Hook, at your service. At my lady's pleasure, of course."

The cat seemed to smile, that is, if a cat could smile.

"What is your name, lady?" he asked her, as gently as he could.

The cat blinked a few times, then raised her head so that she might look into his eyes.

"My name," she said, "is Juliet."

He smiled down at her. "It's a very pretty name," he began.

The cat became bashful, and looked away from him, though she began to purr.

"For a very pretty cat," he finished, bending down to stroke her soft head. She closed her eyes in ecstasy, and her purring grew louder. Her eyes closed, and as he stroked her underneath her chin, she opened them slightly, and they looked like little bits of lapis against the white.

"Will you stay for a long time then, Killian Jones?" she queried.

He knew then that he could hide from Cora here. Because no one would expect him to be holed up with the forgotten White Cat.

"Oh, little White Cat, little Juliet," he responded, keeping his voice as gentle as he could, "I shall stay for as long as you wish."


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I don't own "Once Upon a Time," but Juliet is mine. "The White Cat" is a French fairy tale collected by Madame d'Aulnoy. I picture actress Vanessa Kirby-particularly when she portrayed Estella in BBC's latest adaptation of "Great Expectations"-as Juliet. Reviews and constructive criticism are welcome and appreciated.**

**Within the Walls of This Bright Place**

**Chapter Two**

The days he spent with the White Cat seemed to blend together into a dream. Perhaps it was because of the dark silence that hung about the palace. Perhaps it was because it was of the inertia that crept throughout his veins from simply remaining here and waiting for an opportune time to leave. Each night he vowed to himself before he went to bed that he would set out tomorrow to find Emma and Snow White, but each morning when he awoke he found some reason to remain at the palace.

He slowly began to gain knowledge of the palace itself, for the White Cat eventually showed him all around the palace, opening coral doors and leading him into rooms lined with porphyry and lapis. What a grand place this must have been once, very long ago! Now it was empty and gloomy with just himself and her here.

His favorite rooms were the armory, where he had a wide selection of swords and cutlasses available to him; the library, where he pored over every book available to see how other portals might be opened, and if they could be opened through his efforts alone; and the billiard room, where he would challenge the cat to card games, chess, and backgammon. In this way they passed the idle hours. Sometimes he would tell her stories of his travels, and he told her of how he had come to be in the vicinity of the castle to begin with, though she laughed at the part when he had been manacled to the wall of the giant's castle while his cohort had made a quick getaway.

Sometimes, as he would be reading, he would feel the cat's half-closed eyes on him. He wondered what she might be thinking inside that little white head of hers.

And then one day he would discover what it was.

* * *

The exceptional thing about fairy curses was that there were ways to break them. Sometimes fairies would become so involved in casting the spell that they would forget the loopholes that one could come up if one thought very hard. And the White Cat knew what the loopholes were, for she had had much time to think of how the curse might be broken.

A pirate captain might not be a white knight, but they were errant nonetheless. And the man could handle a sword as she had never seen any other man do. So she contrived to take him to the armory the next day, and she said to him, "Now, Killian Jones, I have a gift for you."

"A gift?" he repeated, his eyes lingering on the sword with the finely jeweled hilt that had once belonged to her father. "You don't have to give me anything, darling."

The cat laughed. "Oh, but I must!" she insisted. "You have been ever so kind to me and have stayed when really you should be on your way. I am deeply grateful for it, and I wish for you to have something before you finally leave my palace."

He shook his head, a smirk slowly spreading across his face. "Oh, little cat! How generous you are!" he said, and he sauntered over to the shelf which held her father's sword. He picked it up, wondering at the lightness and sharpness of the blade and the jewels on the hilt which winked in the sunlight streaming in from the window. "I'll think of you each time you use it, little cat," he told her as he practiced a thrust and then a parry with it in hand.

_Now, _the White Cat thought, and she approached Killian, sitting down before him. He stopped and glanced down at her, puzzled. "Now," the cat said, a shiver of dread running up her spine, "you must do as I say, and exactly when I say it."

"And what would you like me to do, little cat?" he inquired, very softly. His own blue eyes met hers, and she drew a trembling breath.

"You must cut off my head and my tail," she instructed, and he seemed visibly upset at her request.

"But why?" he asked her. "Why do you want me to do that, lass? We have been such great friends, you and I, and I couldn't…"

"Do it, please," she begged. "You would be doing me a great service…"

He sighed, closed his eyes for a moment to collect himself, and stepped toward her, raising his sword.

She didn't feel the pain as he brought the blade down once, and then twice.

* * *

There was no blood. Instead, as he stared down at the cat's body with a heavy heart, he noticed a shimmering in the air. The shimmering specks slowly gathered into a white mist which increased in size and then began to disperse, and he watched as a figure rose to its feet, extending its hand toward him.

Once the shimmering specks cleared, he saw that the figure was that of a young woman, and a very pretty young woman at that. Her skin bore the color and texture of a magnolia, and her beautiful dark chestnut hair was gathered into a chignon at the back of her head, though some loose curls were allowed to escape. But when he saw the eyes, he knew then that she was the lady who had formerly been the White Cat.

"You have broken the enchantment," she said, her voice trembling with happiness. She extended her hand to him, and he dropped the sword and took it in spite of himself. It was warm, and real, and he smiled at her.

"So this is your true form, little cat?" he said, trying to remain as suave as possible to break the awkwardness of the moment.

She laughed, her other hand picking up the skirt of her blue high-waisted dress. "Of course it is, Sir Knight!" she exclaimed, her eyes sparkling. And she led him out of the armory to the marble staircase, and she hurried down it, taking him with her, laughing all the while as she found that she could descend it on two feet as easily as she had four. And her laughter echoed throughout the marble hallways just as it should have all along.

* * *

"And what will you do now, lass?" he asked her as they sat in front of the fireplace in the salon.

She glanced up at him. "I don't know," she admitted. Then she asked him, "What will _you_ do now?"

He stared into the fire, and he folded his hand and the sharp appendage in his lap. "I'll be leaving you soon, beautiful," he confessed, not daring to meet her eyes. "Do you think you'd be able to manage without me?"

She glared at him, clenching her fists. "I should think not!" she said indignantly.

"You know that I can't stay here forever," he persisted, turning to face her. "I've got plans of my own, and while this was a lovely place to hide, I need to be going."

Here she straightened, her face growing hard with resolution. "And I'll be coming with you," she said.

He sprang up, glaring down at her, his body tensing with frustration. "There is no way in hell you're coming with me," he snapped. "You haven't been out of this castle in years! You wouldn't know the first thing about the outside world!"

"I would know enough," she objected. "You forget who my mother was, sir. You forget that she recorded every detail of her travels so that her subjects might know of those who lived in kingdoms beyond ours."

"She did, now?" he murmured, almost sheepishly, for it seemed that he had forgotten that small detail.

"She kept diaries. They are locked up in what was her chamber."

His face brightened. "So where's the key so that I can get to them?"

She smiled secretively, and she slowly indicated the chatelaine about her waist that held, among other things, a set of keys. He passed his hand over his dark beard and grinned.

"Are you sure you're _not_ a pirate, little cat?" he asked her.

She rose to her feet and without a word crossed to the threshold of the room, and then she turned to him expectantly. "Are you coming?" she said, and with a laugh he followed her to the marble staircase.

The diaries were locked in a cabinet in the queen's old chamber, and Juliet unlocked it and presented him with one of them while she took another. They spent some time skimming over the fragile pages of the diaries, though he found nothing of consequence in them. He grudgingly reached for another volume when Juliet let out a cry of excitement. She rose from her chair and came to him, a finger inserted into the closed book to mark her place.

"I may have found something," she said, and he stood up and waited for her to open the book and show him. "Look." She pointed to one of the lines in the book, and he followed her finger over the passage.

It was a heartbreaking tale, one of a mother and father desperate to bring their little girl home. Against their better judgment, they went to the Dark One to see if he could use magic to break the promise that the queen had made so long ago. He had done as they had asked, but there had been a price. There was always a price.

He made them forget about her. He had made everyone forget about her, everyone except for the queen.

And Killian could have sworn that he saw a tear slide down Juliet's cheek, but then as the light in the room was poor, he couldn't be sure about it.

* * *

Supper was a dismal affair. Neither one of them felt like eating. Juliet stared down at each platter and sighed, taking only a few bites of each, and Killian himself seemed more eager for the wine than the food.

They repaired to the salon after dinner, and Juliet strummed away at her harp while he resumed reading the last of the diaries. And that was when he found the map. It fell out of the back of the volume, as though someone had folded it up and put it there to try and keep it hidden.

"Juliet," he intoned, and she stopped playing and hurried to his side. They stared down at the yellowed piece of paper at their feet, and then they exchanged glances.

"You pick it up," he told her, and she bent over and plucked it off of the cabernet-colored rug, unfolding it. She held it out in front of them, and he studied it, his eyes following each drawn line, pausing at some points. He let his fingers trace rivers and mountains, pass over the names of villages and cities, until he stopped at a drawing of a castle. He stepped behind Juliet so that he could read the name of the castle, and she caught the smell of him: tobacco, sandalwood, leather, smells that had long become familiar to her.

"Well, lovely," he whispered as he read the castle's name, "it seems as though we may be in luck after all."

"_We?"_ she echoed curiously, raising an eyebrow.

"Aye," he said, putting his hand on her shoulder. "We."

* * *

"Along with the compass that was stolen from me," Killian explained as he followed her up the marble staircase to the queen's old chambers, "there's an enchanted spyglass that could be used to open a portal to another realm. If we could find it, then you and I would be able to open a portal and leave this place."

She stopped, turning her head to look down at him. "I thought you didn't want me to come with you."

He smirked again, his eyes sparkling impishly. "Is a man allowed to change his mind now and again, lass?"

She then decided to be brave, to take a chance. "I have a spyglass."

"Ah, but is it an _enchanted_ spyglass?" he countered, coming up to stand on the step beside her. "For there are many spyglasses in this world, but not so many enchanted spyglasses!"

She eyed him levelly. "And what are the supposed qualities of this spyglass?"

He continued up the staircase in stride with her. "If you stand in the direction of whatever it is you want to see, and think of it as you hold the spyglass up to your eye, you will be able to see it."

She stopped once more, turning to face him. He stopped, too, staring down at her quizzically. "Juliet…" he began as she rose up onto the balls of her feet and leaned closer to him.

"My spyglass _is_ the enchanted spyglass," she whispered into his ear.

She felt his hand and his hook on each of her shoulders, and he took a step back from her, looking down at her with amusement in his face. "Well then," he said resolutely, "when shall we depart, fair lady?"

"Soon," she replied lightly, tilting her head much as she did when she was still a white cat. "I must knew where we are going before that, though."

He placed his finger under her chin, lifting her head so that he could see into her eyes. "The map. You saw where it leads to."

"The crystal palace where I grew up," she said. "And why will we be going there?"

"Wherever there have been fairies," Killian answered softly, "there is fairy dust. And we will need that to create the portal."

* * *

As she lie in her bed that night, she turned it over and over again in her mind.

She was going to leave this castle, which had been her home for so long, with a wanted pirate captain, a man who was a thief and a rogue and whom she _shouldn't _trust, but whom she found she _could _trust. There was not to be a knight errant or a happily ever after, but a journey to a new land. And what for? In her case, because she had questions for the Dark One about the why and wherefore of it all. In Killian's case, because he wished to exact his vengeance on the man who had taken his hand.

And then there was the matter of the Curse, which was perhaps most of the reason behind why she had been forgotten.

But with Killian she knew she must tread carefully. However charming he may be, however much he seemed to desire her aid, he was also a pirate. A pirate and a rake, however much it may seem as though he had a heart. And she was sure that he did-had he not helped to break the enchantment she was under?-but still he was Hook, and he would do whatever he could to maintain the upper hand.

Well then, so must she.


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: I don't own "Once Upon a Time," but Juliet is mine. "The White Cat" is a French fairy tale collected by Madame d'Aulnoy. And I suppose that it's going to go into an AU at this point, but that's okay! Reviews and constructive criticism are welcome and appreciated. **

**Within the Bounds of This Bright Place**

**Chapter Three**

Sleep did not come easily to Killian that night, and he rose from his bed and put on the banyan that the bodiless servants of the house had provided for him. He left his room and wandered into the stillness of the hallway. A pair of hands stood at the ready for him holding a candle, and they followed him down the corridor as he wandered down it, slowly, taking the path that had become so familiar to him.

He had never really stopped missing life at sea, the rolling of the ship on the waves, the vast expanse of blue as far as the eye could see. At sea he had felt free, and he had been able to escape from himself and what tormented him. He was able to think, to plot and plan. But when he had returned, it had been waiting for him: the old sadness, the ghosts of the past.

He had never forgotten Milah. Nothing could make him forget Milah as much as he would like to. He had found his perfect match in her, for she had the same lust for life that she did, the same desire to leave her old life behind and begin a new one on the blue.

And then it had been taken from her, just like that. Stolen. Just the reach of a hand, the cackle, the merciless glint in the eye, the crushing, the crumbling of dust. As though she had meant nothing. She, who had meant the world to Killian, was nothing to the man she had left so long ago. Perhaps she had been wrong to leave her husband, perhaps Killian had been wrong to let her come away with him, but she hadn't deserved _that_ fate.

And so now the hatred that had driven Milah's husband drove Killian. And Killian would take his revenge just as Milah's husband had.

But then the question whispered in his mind: _What will you do after that?_

The truth was, he didn't know.

He found himself in the gallery, which always looked eerie at night. The paintings of Juliet's ancestors lined both walls, and if you had a flight of fancy, some of them even stared at you unblinkingly. While a cat, Juliet had taken him through here twice, stopping at each picture and telling him the family legends concerning this or that person. He found that he liked the portrait of Juliet's mother, Queen Alianor, the best. He could see the resemblance between the both of them: the inquisitive eyes, the haughty expression, the cupid's-bow mouth. And yet there was so much that was different: the queen's face had been a little rounder and she had had red-gold hair. Juliet had inherited the cheekbones and dark hair from her father, King Roland., whose portrait hung across the hallway from his wife's. And then there were her brothers-four of them, to be exact-three of whom had been killed along with their father in the war against King George and one who had been unaccounted for and, much like his sister, had been lost but presumed dead.

What must it be like, Killian wondered, to have all of your family history with you in one place, to live and breathe it as you grew? Juliet hadn't necessarily had this as a child, but in the past few years she did have it, and she seemed to have blossomed under it. She knew who she was, she knew what she would have been, but like him, she stood on the precipice of the unknown.

_If I'd known that the tale of the White Cat was true, would I have come to break the enchantment?_

He knew he would have, just to be the one who had done it and who had won the princess and her kingdom. It wouldn't have mattered whether or not they loved each other, because a princess was always expected to marry the hero who broke the curse on her. That was how it had always been.

But he would have felt the itch to wander, to take to sea and never look back. So that life would not have been different from this.

He heard the sound of a footstep behind him, and he whirled around to see Juliet standing a few feet away from him, another pair of hands holding a light out for her. She was watching him and a concerned look crossed her face.

"Juliet. Did I wake you?" he asked, fearing that he had even though he had been quiet.

She shook her head. "I was wakeful anyhow. I heard your door open. The servant-" she gestured ruefully at the bodiless hands at her side- "led me here."

"So they all share thoughts, then, these hands?" he surmised, taking a step toward her, and she shrugged, a half smile quirking her lips.

"Perhaps they do. It wouldn't surprise me. Magic is a very strange thing, you know."

"Yes, I know."

There was a silence in between them, and Juliet's eyes wandered to the portrait of her mother. She lifted a hand to her cheek, her eyes still on the portrait, and then she turned away from it, drawing a deep breath.

"What is it?" he asked her, and she turned to him.

"You seem to like her portrait," she observed, and he nodded.

"Yes, I do. I remember hearing stories about her. She was quite a lady."

"It would seem so." Juliet's eyes wandered to him. "I wish I had known her, known them both…" She bit her lip. "And my brothers…"

Wishes. Yes, the fruitless wishes for things in the past that would never be regained. "Wishing is useless, lovely. We all want things we can't have. Looking at the past won't help. It never does."

"Yes, as you can tell me from experience." She took a few steps past him, then went to look at another portrait. What did she mean by that?

"And how would you know anything about that?" he asked her with feigned lightness.

She shrugged. "The tattoo on your right arm. Milah." She glanced at him to gauge his expression, and when his face remained impassive, she continued. "You must have loved her very much if you had her name tattooed on your arm. But something must have happened for you to take to sea like you did." She paused. "Did she break your heart?"

"In a manner of speaking. And her heart was broken, too."

She pulled her dressing gown more tightly around her to keep the chill out. "It's difficult, living with a broken heart. All you want to do is die, but day after day after day you wake up and have to go on living."

"And you can tell me from experience, can't you, Juliet?" he said, coming to her side.

She nodded. "Of course I can. You know all of my story, whereas I know so little of yours. But broken hearts can mend over time."

They stood there in silence for some moments, staring up at the portraits around them. He watched her as she crossed the gallery to look at the portrait across from the one in front of him, and he could hear the faint shuffling sound made by her slippers and the hem of her dressing gown. This place…it was quiet. So very quiet. He didn't care for the silence just right now; for a man so used to the noise of the ocean or of birds or of something about him, the silence was suffocating.

"Do you want to know all of my story, Juliet?" he asked her.

She turned to him, brushing a strand of dark hair out of her face. She seemed to hesitate, and then she stepped toward him, her face having taken on a more decisive look.

"Tell me," she said.

* * *

They retreated to the quiet of her bedroom, and the bodiless hands put more wood on the fire while both Killian and Juliet sat down in front of it. He didn't look at her while he told the story; he kept his eyes on the fire in front of him, and once he was finished, he felt her soft hand reach for his good one.

"Broken hearts can be mended," she said once again.

"Are you so sure of that?" he replied, turning to face her.

She smiled wanly. "Of course I am. But you have to want to let your heart mend."

They sat in silence for some moments, watching the fire, until she rose and expressed her wish to go to bed. He stood up, too, a little disappointed that she had disengaged her hand from his.

"Can you fight?" he asked her. "With a sword, a dagger…?"

She nodded. "I'm handy with a crossbow. It was considered proper that I know how to use it should my future husband wish to hold a royal hunt."

"A crossbow is a very fierce weapon," he remarked, and she looked at him incredulously. "And I'm sure it's a very deadly one in your hands."

"You shall have to see," she told him, watching him as he walked toward the door of her bedroom. "Good night, Killian."

"Good night, Juliet."

And as he headed down the hall toward his room, he _did_ feel a little lighter, as though some of the burden had been lifted. It had made it a little easier, telling Juliet about it. And perhaps she was right.

Perhaps, after all this time, he had decided to let his broken heart begin to mend.

* * *

Young Henry Mills had always been intrigued by Eleanor Talbot, though his mother told him time and again to leave the poor woman alone. Still, there were times when he would venture to the Victorian house on the hill outside of town to see her. She had always been kind to him, despite the heavy sadness that seemed to weigh down on her. She enjoyed his visits and told stories of her travels to this or that country before her husband and baby daughter had been killed in a car accident so many years ago. "Once I was very happy," she said as she showed him the very last picture of her family that had been taken so may years ago, "but how easily it can be taken away from you!"

He'd learned that the word for Mrs. Talbot's affliction was agoraphobia. There was no use to try to convince Mrs. Talbot to return from her house; she'd not come out of it for years. She had even gone so far as to hire a personal assistant to take care of all of the errands and duties that would have forced her to leave. It was an odd circumstance, but then it was accepted as part of the many odd circumstances in Storybrooke.

His favorite part of Mrs. Talbot's house was the miniature fairy-tale castle that she and her husband had had custom made for their little girl when she was born. It was what some would call a work of art, with a marble staircase and hand-blown glass bottles for the wine cellar. There was even a small harp that went with the salon and a long corridor with walls lined in paintings.

The oddest painting he found, though, was one that looked almost exactly like Mrs. Talbot. He didn't mention it to her, and of course he wasn't going to mention it to his mother, because his mother would have been dismissive about it even though he knew there was more to it than met the eye.

But when the Curse broke, Eleanor Talbot emerged from her house, blinking her eyes at the brightness of the sun, and remembered who she was and what really had happened to her daughter.

* * *

Magic was a funny thing. For all the times that it could be harnessed, there were also times when it had a will of its own, though that had hardly happened to Rumplestiltskin. He could only remember one occurrence of it, if his memory served him correctly, and that was because fairy magic had been added to the whole mess. Yet that was a tale that he kept to himself. After all, who wanted it to be known that there were times that his control over the magic had slipped, just that once, and had caused another problem on top of that? But then it had ended up working out quite splendidly for him, for he not only had a king and a queen in his debt, but the three most malevolent fairies of the north as well.

Of course, it didn't mean much now, did it?

* * *

Juliet found a crossbow that operated to her liking in the armory the following day. Killian went outside with her as the disembodied hands went about setting up the targets that her brothers had once used so long ago.

"So you're going to show off for me?" he asked her as she loaded a bolt into the crossbow. "You don't think I believe you when you say you're skilled at it?"

She sniffed. "I _do_ need to practice. It's been years since I've been able to do that. I had no thumbs, if you remember correctly."

He smiled down at her, and then he took a few steps back, folding his arms across the chest and leaning against the stable wall. "All right then. Practice."

She took up a bolt and loaded it into the crossbow. She lifted the crossbow more closely to her face so that she could aim for the target. She drew a breath and then pulled the trigger, sending the bolt flying. It hit its mark, but quite a few inches to the upper right of the target's center. She cursed under her breath and roughly pulled out another bolt, ready to load it, until she felt Killian's hand and hook on both of her shoulders. He leaned closer to her and whispered into her ear, "Don't let that one get to you, lovely. That was the first time in a very long time. Try again."

She felt the tension melt away as he spoke to her, and she closed her eyes, drawing a breath. He stepped back from her, and she loaded the bolt and lifted the crossbow again. She let loose the bolt, and this time it landed more closely to the target.

"There you go! It's closer!" He clapped her on the shoulder, and she turned to see the genuine excitement in his face. "Now try again."

She did, and then once more, and with each shot she grew closer to the target. At one point they had to go to pull the bolts out from the target. She noticed that he was laughing, that he was genuinely laughing and losing all of the cares that had seemed to weigh upon him from the moment they had first met.

_Indeed,_ she thought, _a careless Killian Jones is a very handsome Killian Jones._

And she giggled like a featherheaded young girl at this.

They made their way back to the point where Juliet had been shooting the crossbow and set the bolts down on the ground. Killian backed away again, and she could feel his eyes on her as she made ready to shoot the bolt again.

She pulled the trigger, letting the bolt fly. She watched it as it grew closer to the target.

As it hit its mark in the very dead center.

She squealed in delight and clapped her hands, turning to Killian, who took her into his arms and lifted her off the ground, spinning a few times, until he set her down.

And then he asked her, very gently, "In honor of this auspicious occasion, may I kiss you, lady?"

And it wasn't in jest. "Of course you may kiss me, good sir. Though you be a thief and a rogue, I have seen that you have a stalwart heart," she replied.

"You really think I'm a thief and a rogue?" he asked her, cupping her face in his hand, his blue eyes questioning her.

"But did you not hear what I said after that, you great silly?" she said, pressing her forehead to his.

He traced the line of her jaw with his finger. "Say it again, Juliet. All of it."

She laughed, twining her arms around his neck. "Though you be a thief and a rogue," she repeated, "I have seen that you have a stalwart heart."

And with that he closed his lips over hers. She returned his kiss as fully as he gave it, and in that moment, she believed that, though he be a thief and a rogue, he could be a great many other things as well.

**And at this point it goes seriously AU. Queen Alianor/Eleanor Talbot is based on Queen Alienor d'Aquitaine, who sponsored many troubadours and storytellers, including Marie de France, and her sons and are very loosely based on the sons she had with Henry II. Don't ask, it just happened, and there is a very good reason for it. Also, please take a look Marie de France's "The Lai of Lanval" and the tale "How Culhwch Won Olwen" if you wish to know what else happens. And please don't forget to leave a review below!**


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